No Such Luck
by AnotherConstellationDies.x
Summary: Runner up in vampiregirl50's contest to write a story about how Remus Lupin was turned into a werewolf. Oneshot. Mild wolfiness.


It was the beginning of July. Long had I dreamt about the arrival of the month, as it brought with it clear blue skies, sweet summer breezes, and a warm sun. I longed to feel the heat of the sun beat down on me. Too long had the country been in a wet and miserable winter. I had assumed, in my naivety, that as the sun rose and July began, the perfect summer weather would begin. I was sadly mistaken. I awoke to a grey sort of light filling my bedroom. I sat up instantly, scrambling to the window, nearly tripping over blankets and pillows as I did so. Yanking apart the curtains, my smiled died as I saw a blanket of heavy, monotonous cloud, remaining unbroken all the way to the horizon. I had hoped for sun. I would have settled for just a hint of blue sky.

No such luck.

I made my way downstairs, slightly dismayed. The sound of my parents arguing did nothing to lift my mood. They had been at each other's throat for weeks now. I barely knew what they were arguing about, I didn't know the relevance of my father's anger. I was only six years old, and I didn't want to hear them talk about politics and money. I only cared for their talk of magical beasts, the stuff of fantasy. Of course, by then, I was aware that my father had a strange talent that my mother did not possess, one that she envied and hated at the same time. My father had told me late one night that I, too, had the abilities that he had, but at that point I was barely paying attention. My parents noticed me standing in the doorway. My father had his arms crossed, and he was shaking his head. _No. _He said. _That monster will come looking for us. He hates me, you know that. Stay inside. Lock the doors. _He looked at me. _Keep him safe. _I stared back at him with wide, unknowing eyes. My mother, younger than my father, more carefree, protested vehemently, saying that as long as we kept within easy running distance of the open back door, we would be fine. My father refused to compromise and left the room. My mother looked at me, her amber eyes, my own, sparkling, as if with victory. She grinned and winked conspiratorially.

I guess, should I have the inclination, I could blame my mother for everything. I could blame the nights we spent together, sat in the soft, cold grass, marvelling at the night's sky in all her glory. Those nights were the ones I loved the most. I have clear memories of my mother hugging me close for warmth, looking up at the sky with awe in her eyes. I could never quite understand the almost reverent love she had for the full moon. I remember filling the silent night with my excited, childish chatter, my breath coming out in clouds of condensation. When I look back at my mother, all I can remember is that I held the utmost admiration, devotion and adoration for her. I remember how she looked in the moonlight, her black hair glinting as it fell in gentle waves around her young, unlined face. I remember her creamy, white skin taking on an almost ethereal glow, as if by its own luminescence. It may sound bizarre now, but at that time all I wanted was to possess the same strange, beautiful, almost inhuman beauty that she possessed as she sat in the moonlight.

These nights, where we stargazed until I fell asleep in my mother's arms, took place once a month, every month, without fail. I don't know how they started, but I knew I could look at the stars forever, such was the contentment and utter delight I felt.

This night, the one in the very beginning of July, it was no different. We were sat on the floor, closer to the back door than we would do normally. I was watching the shadows of the trees and the branches moving gently. I was a little in awe by the silvery light that the moon lit up my beloved garden with. And I did love that garden. My parents were never ones for gardening, but it was perfect as it was, wild, untamed, beautiful. It backed onto the edge of a wood, and there were no fences as such to mark the boundaries of our property. The trees were an odd assortment, some tall and slender trunked, others short, with low branches that were perfect for climbing. I don't know how much one can love a garden, but I'm sure I was pushing the limit. After all, I was only six years old. My whole world was that garden. I knew little of what lay beyond it, having no experience of the world and its ways.

As I have said, had I the inclination, I could blame my mother for all that transpired that night. Sitting on the floor, looking at the illuminated garden, my mother was the first to hear a gentle rustling of leaves. There was no wind that night. She silenced me, her smile fading and her eyes growing wider. I had no interest for what had captivated her, and I continued to look up at the stars with a clumsy, lopsided smile on my face. Soon, however, even I could not deny that there was something in the darkness.

We both seemed to be frozen where we sat, hardly daring to move, hardly daring to believe what we were hearing. In my case, I had no idea what I was hearing, but my mother's expression convinced me it was nothing good. The rustling noise became the loudest it had been so far, and, right at the end of the garden, a pair of angry, feral, yellow eyes emerged. My mother gasped softly, scrambling to her feet. She grabbed my hand, but I could not tear my gaze from those yellow eyes, and I yanked my hand away from hers, watching as the animal emerged fully from the undergrowth.

Truly, it was a stunning creature. Even when it was covered in dirty brown fur, matted with dirt and blood, standing with its ears alert, listening. I could see the power it possessed in its legs and in its jaw. I could see a row of white teeth, and even from where I was sat I could see how sharp they were. I could hear the low, continuous growl that was rolling from the wolf's throat. Suddenly, I realised that the animal was tensed, as if ready to spring. I realised that it meant to attack us. I stood up clumsily, and my mother almost smiled in relief, glad that I had come to my senses. She scooped me up into her arms and began running back towards the house. I could hear the _thud thud thud _of the wolf's feet on the grass, and suddenly the sound was gone.

I did not know it at the time, but at that point the wolf had jumped into the air and was coming straight for us. Abruptly my mother screamed and we were both flung backwards as the wolf pulled us down. I was thrown from my mother's arms and rolled away from her. As if she hadn't noticed the gash down her back, or the blood flowing steadily from it, she began to scramble back over to me, however the wolf was quicker. It stood in between us, snarling furiously at her. Unadulterated terror was in her eyes. While the beast's back was turned, I attempted to crawl away quietly, keeping my eyes fixed on the enormous animal. However, my foot came into contact with a stray branch and I tripped with a muffled _oomph _noise. The wolf spun around to face me, growling viciously. Before I could comprehend the fact that it had moved, it was over me, it's eyes shining. The way its lips were drawn back, it almost looked as if it was grinning. Before I could do anything about it, the wolf clamped its teeth into my shoulder.

My scream could be heard for miles around. The pain was excruciating, unendurable, and a jolt of something inhuman thudded through my veins, again and again. Before I gratefully sank into the welcome arms of unconsciousness, I saw a flash of light coming from the direction of the house, where my father stood with his wand out. The wolf was flung off me. I passed out.

The next thing I remember is the steady beeping of the heart monitor. I remember the extreme pounding in my head, and I remember unwelcome colours swirling behind my eyelids. Slowly, I opened my eyes. I was no where familiar, but I could tell from what I knew of them that I was definitely in a hospital. I took a deep breath and let it out again, staring at the white ceiling. The plaster was cracked in places, curling here and there. I could barely remember what had happened, my mind was trying to piece together fuzzy memories to no real avail. Out of curiosity, and because there was a dull, thudding ache in my side, I looked under my pyjamas to assess what had happened to me. There was a large bandage attached to my shoulder, and I tore it away impatiently. Instantly, I wished I hadn't. The wound there was horrific, the skin ripped to reveal the flesh that made me up. I started to feel sick, and attempted to reattach the bandage. I noticed, in doing so, other, smaller wounds, going from my chest to near my hip, that had already healed over, thus not requiring bandages. They were not regular, some were larger that others, some were silvery and fine and barely there.

These had been given to me when the wolf had been forced off me, and during that time the wolf's teeth had dragged down my chest and my stomach, ripping the soft, previously unblemished flesh. I realised that these marks would stay with me throughout my life. I was alone in the room, the heart monitor and various other machines making the only sounds.

From my bed, I had a perfect view out of the window. The clouds were dull and grey, almost ominous. The layer of cloud remained unbroken right up to the horizon and beyond. I didn't know the exact date, but I knew it was still July. I was really hoping for sunshine.

No such luck.


End file.
